The Naked Truth
by Brooke2Broch
Summary: Captain Swan AU. Emma Swan has arrived in Storybrooke, Maine, to do research for a story about small town political corruption. Her time there gets complicated when she meets the dashing mayor, Killian Jones, and is enticed by the promise of a life she never thought she could have.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 _Emma Swan stepped out of a shiny black Audi sedan and into a pool of streetlight on the corner in front of her seaside hotel._

 _"_ _Thanks for the ride," she mouthed to the man behind the closed window, waving._

 _Silently, she was grateful he had stayed in the car; if he were to get out right now, her resolve to keep her hands off of the man would be shot to hell. It struck her that perhaps hell is exactly where he came from. She was certain there were no angels that looked the way he looked tonight: tousled brown hair, stubble, tight black jeans, and dark grey button down shirt with the collar open more than was decent. It wasn't just the clothes. The body beneath seemed as though it had been built for sin. And he knew it. The way he carried himself, as though he was always two seconds away from luring you into a dark corner, trapping you against the wall, and having his way with you. The devil incarnate._

 _A cool breeze blew up from the water, breaking her thoughts and making her stand up straighter. She took a deep breath and lifted her hair off her damp neck. What she needed right now was to escape the oppressive heat._ Escape him, _a small voice whispered. Since the breeze was coming off the water, she thought, in her half-sober logic, that it might be a good idea to head down to the marina, maybe dangle her feet from the docks._

 _She heard the swish of the window rolling down on the car behind her, and felt the air conditioning spill out onto her arms. She turned to face the open window, tugging the back of her tight red dress down as she bent down to speak._ Act casual, Swan. _"I'm fine, now, Mr. Mayor. You've done the chivalrous thing and delivered me to my hotel. You can go now."_

 _He started to say something, but she stood up and started to walk away, bypassing the path to her building and heading towards the water._

 _Behind her, she heard the tires slowly crunching on the gravel, and then they were silent. A car door opened and shut._ Shit. _She could hear his shoes pounding the pavement at a quick clip and then he came to a halt. When she turned around, she found him staring at her with a look of concern knitting his brows. He ran his hand through his hair and exhaled, and she tried to ignore how damn sexy he looked when he was worried._

 _"_ _The inn was that way, Swan. So unless you have taken up residence in someone's houseboat, you're walking in the wrong direction."_

 _"_ _Where I walk is none of your concern."_

 _"_ _I beg to differ. The water down there is at least twenty feet deep. The last thing I need to wake up to on Sunday is a lawsuit because a bloody tourist decided to take a drunken stroll off the end of my docks."_

 _"_ _I'm not drunk. Just a little buzzed."_

 _"_ _Four tumblers of rum in an hour, lass? If you aren't drunk I'd be heartily impressed."_

 _"_ _Well, prepare to be impressed." She pivoted on her heel and began to stride away, but damn it if she didn't pick that moment to trip on some rope and nearly fall to the ground, grabbing the bumper of a parked car on the way down. "I'm fine. I'm fine."_

 _"_ _Whoa. Here, let me help you." He reached out to help her stand again, but rather than putting her on solid footing, his firm grip around her waist made her feel even more unsteady._

 _It wasn't the liquor. This man had the uncanny ability of being able to set her off balance. Ever since the moment she first laid eyes on him._

* * *

 _[Three days prior...]_

"I'll probably need a little longer than I expected for this story. Let Walsh know I'm not going to make next Thursday's deadline. And we need to talk about-" she paused, grasping for the right words.

"If you are satisfied with your message, please press 1. If you would like to-"

"Seriously?! No, I'm not satisfied." She groaned into her phone. "I hate your voicemail, Neal."

She poked the hang-up button a little more forcefully than was necessary, muttering curse words and tossing it back into her bag, before heading out for breakfast.

It wasn't the phone's fault. She was already in a funk. Emma Swan wasn't the type to readily admit defeat, but the lack of anything resembling a lead was frustrating her.

The residents of Storybrooke had been like every other New Englander she ever knew - excessively helpful when it came to giving directions, but guarded when it came to making small talk. It wasn't altogether unexpected, but she had hoped when she tried to broach the subject of town politics, that someone would give her an earful. Didn't every town have its dirty little secrets? Apparently not Storybrooke.

Then again, when something looks too good to be true, it usually is.

Case in point, Killian Jones - mayor of this perfect little town and pain-in-the-ass-in-chief. He strolled into her world on the morning of her fourth day in Storybrooke for no reason that she could tell other than to complicate her job…or her life…or both.

He was charming enough, she would give him that. But he was fooling no one with his false welcoming committee act. He had casually approached her at the counter of the local diner with an outstretched hand and words of introduction - "Killian Jones, I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

She had been minding her own business, sipping her coffee and enjoying some excellent pancakes, when there he was, sidling up next to her at the counter. She hadn't intended to give the man the time of day, but the English accent made her look. Of course she had done a bit of research in advance, and he presented well enough in newspaper photos. But, in person - well - the guy should come with a warning label. Turning her head and seeing his face for the first time, she accidentally sucked her coffee into her windpipe.

It took at least a minute to clear her throat. He sat there the whole time in his tailored grey suit serenely awaiting her response, eyebrow lifted over those piercing blue eyes, a smile dimpling into his auburn five o'clock shadow. After pulling the cloth napkin away from her mouth, she said, "Emma Swan," holding out her hand.

"Welcome to Storybrooke." He smiled even more widely and took her hand in his, and the combination of his firm grip and good cheer fueled her annoyance even more. Not to mention, the way he overtly stared at her mouth before meeting her eyes was entirely too familiar. It made her stomach feel tight and her blood hum.

"Thanks," she muttered, and looked back to her food.

He rotated his seat to face the counter, exchanging pleasantries with the white-haired woman working there and sipped his black coffee silently, periodically twisting the large ring on his right index finger.

Emma reached back into her brown leather bag and grabbed her tablet to make herself look busy. She was feeling a bit agitated with him sitting there next to her; he had evidently sought her out to talk to her.

After a few minutes, he broke the silence. "Where are you travelling from?" He was still facing forward, but clearly speaking to her.

"Boston."

"I love it there. What brings you to town?"

"Business. You ask a lot of questions." She glanced at him.

"Do I?" He shrugged and half-smiled. "Just making small talk."

She looked up at him and, again, his eyes met hers, searching. This guy was going to be trouble for her. She could feel it. He made her nervous, which never happened. She sure as hell wouldn't let it show.

Emma finally broke his gaze, speaking a bit more sharply than she intended, "So - the mayor has come out to greet me, why?"

"Oh, so you've heard of me?"

"It's written right on the town sign, Mr. Mayor."

"Killian," he said, and she looked up to find him smiling again.

Unh-unh. She wasn't going to bite at the invitation to get all chummy with a man who was plainly digging for information.

"You didn't answer my question, _Mr. Jones_. Why are you here?"

"I woke up this morning and said to myself, 'Jones, why don't you go down to Granny's and see if you can find a fetching blonde to vex.'"

"Well, you've succeeded."

"My apologies."

"Apology accepted. Well...uh...it was nice meeting you." She took a bite of her food and stared intently at her plate, hoping he'd take the hint.

He did not.

"Alright. I can see you're a direct sort of woman, Miss Swan, so I won't suffer you with pretenses. The word on the street is that you've been taking photos and asking a lot of _interesting_ questions."

"If you've heard that, then you know why I'm here."

"You're in town taking photos and gathering information for a travel guide?"

"That's right," she said, trying to speak as naturally as possible. "Actually, an article for the travel section of the paper."

"And you honestly believe I am buying that story?"

"I don't care what you think. Whatever I'm doing here shouldn't concern you. Asking questions and taking photos doesn't break any law I'm aware of. I suggest you stick to - I don't know - school board disputes or potholes or whatever it is that the taxpayers pay you to do here." She rolled her eyes.

"Looking out for my constituents is precisely what I am doing here."

She looked at him then, searching his eyes for a moment. "Just what exactly do you think I'm up to, Mr. Mayor?"

"I've yet to discover your true purpose here, but I've still plenty of time."

"Have fun working it out, Sherlock. I'm only here for a few more days. Meantime, I'd like to eat in peace."

He stared at her for a moment, with a look of amusement on his face, and shook his head. Then he took the cue and stood up, leaving a barely-drunk cup of coffee and a couple of bucks on the counter. His chest was right in her line of sight as he pulled on his suit coat. The muscles of his neck looked positively amazing under that white shirt fitted across his sh- _What was she doing!?_ She glanced down to avoid staring at him any longer. Her eyes caught the shine of the silver buckle on his black leather belt, then drifted lower... _Crap._ She quickly looked back up and met his eyes, which were now wrinkled at the corners as he grinned impishly.

"See you around, Miss Swan."

"I'm sure you will." She suddenly became very interested in her pancakes.

He was still staring at her; she could feel it. But she refused to look up. After a few moments, he began to walk to the door, exchanging pleasantries convivially as he left. It was only after she heard the door shut that she glanced up. He was outside of Granny's now, talking with a striking brunette and an African-American gentleman - both dressed as impeccably as he was. They all looked towards the restaurant window and Emma's head whipped back down, her heart pounding.

She was certain no one knew about her real purpose in town. But there was always that little voice of concern when she was on an investigation. If those people knew something and were talking to Killian Jones about it, then it would blow her story out of the water. After all, when you're doing an exposé on small-town government corruption, the last person you want clued in is the mayor of said town.

Of course she had nothing to worry about. The only other person who knew was Neal Cassidy, her editor at the Globe and boyfriend of three years. Well, him, and whoever gave him the tip - which he had said was a sure thing. Their relationship…not so much. In the last few weeks she had come to find that being with Neal had been what was easy and comfortable. But she decided she would rather be alone with herself then _feel_ alone with Neal. She would be thirty in two years and she refused to enter into another decade unhappy.

She had tried desperately to break it off before she left, but he was irritatingly unreachable. A voice in the back of her head was telling her that maybe he knew what was coming and was intentionally avoiding her calls. He'd earned his stripes in investigative reporting too. He wasn't oblivious. Seeing as she wasn't going to do it on social media, she would just have to put that particular issue aside for now.

Anyway, she'd see him soon enough. She'd only be here for one week, two, tops. As she thought this, the sound of a female voice broke through her reverie.

"You're that reporter, aren't you?"

"What?" Emma turned to her left to find a brunette with a pixie cut smiling at her broadly. She hadn't even seen her sit down, but she must have been there for a few minutes, since she was already halfway through her yogurt and berries. Whoever she was, she looked like she belonged on a 1950s advertisement: perfect pink sweater set, floral knee-length skirt, twinkling eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to bother you while you were eating. Mary Margaret Blanchard."

Emma took her hand and shook it. "Emma Swan. Yes. I'm the one doing the 'Day-trips from Boston' story. And, it's no bother."

"I heard something like that. I can't say we aren't all a little excited. We could use the publicity. Camden gets all the tourists - no one seems to notice us out here."

"I'm hoping to change that a bit. So, you've lived here long?"

"All my life."

"You like it here?" Emma pulled out her tablet. "Do you mind if I take notes?"

"Sure. Yes. It's great, mostly. The beaches are lovely, we have all we need in town, and everyone looks out for each other."

"Can't get more idyllic than that. Did I spell your name right?" Emma showed her tablet to Mary Margaret.

"That's it."

"I can see how your town got its name." Emma smiled. "It's so quaint. Almost like it's been stuck in time."

"It feels that way sometimes." Mary Margaret sighed. "Oh, don't get me wrong. It's nice. But sometimes I wish…Oh, never mind."

"That's okay. I'm not here to pry." Liar. "So, the mayor? He seemed…nice."

"Killian. You met him? Yeah. He's wonderful. I teach here. So, I see the work of his administration up close and personal."

Wonderful. He's "wonderful." Not "corrupt." Not "shady." Emma decided to try a different tack. "It must have been really easy for him to be elected - being that he's so personable. And attractive."

Mary Margaret's eyes got wide. "Yes! He is." Then she paused, thinking, taking a bite of her yogurt. "Well, you would have thought he'd be a shoe-in - charm, looks, hardworking, and intelligent - but he had tough competition. Regina Mills, the local bank president. She was the mayor before him; in fact, twice before. There were claims that- well, you heard his accent? He's not from around here. You know how that goes. Outsiders running for office in a town full of people afraid of interlopers."

"Typical for small towns, though," Emma said. "I wondered what had brought him here."

"He was an orphan. He had a brother named Liam who raised him. They were teenagers when they moved here. I understand maybe they ran on the other side of the law at one point, but I never saw it. And then, a few years ago, there was an accident…Liam…"

Emma could see her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

"Sorry to hear about his brother," she said, putting her hand on Mary Margaret's arm. She'd have to look into these claims about the mayor's past. But it still wasn't what she was looking for. All teenagers go through wild periods. Emma had, herself. It didn't necessarily lead to a life of crime.

"The whole town was beside themselves. Liam Jones was quite the guy. Everyone loved him. Anyway, at least Killian has David." When she spoke again, it was softer - almost breathy - and her eyes were looking past Emma into the street, "David's like a brother to him now."

"Who?"

"David Nolan. He's-" She cut herself off, refocusing her gaze on Emma. "His family has been here forever. They have a lot of pull. They were so upset when he went into law enforcement. He was supposed to take over the family farm."

"So he's a cop here?" Emma hoped she wasn't being too obvious with the leading question.

"Sort of. He's the sheriff."

Emma made a mental note to not ask the sheriff any obviously probing questions.

Mary Margaret suddenly exclaimed, "Oh! Listen to me talking. I'm not helping you with your story at all."

"No, I like hearing these everyday stories. It adds color."

"Where's your family from?"

"Mine? Oh you know, all over." She wasn't going to say how she had no idea who her family was or what it must be like to have a family at all. Let alone a family that went back generations. It seemed Emma had more in common with the mayor than she did with Miss Blanchard. Yet, she felt oddly drawn to her. It was hard not to.

Mary Margaret waited expectantly for the story that never came. And then took a sip of her tea, seemingly nonplussed at the lack of response. "So, how long are you staying?"

"Another few days, I think."

"Well then. I am taking you on a walk through Storybrooke Forest. There are waterfalls and gorges, and at least two dozen different species of songbirds. Are you free tomorrow?"

"Thursday? Absolutely."

"Great," she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out her cell phone. "Give me your number and I'll text you later."

"Here, I'll type it in to your phone. I look forward to hearing from you." And to hearing more about the town. This conversation had been the most productive she'd had yet.

She placed her money on the counter. "See you tomorrow, then."

Emma smiled at her as she walked out, "See you!"

Perhaps things were looking up for her after all, she thought.


	2. Chapter 2

It was going to be another hot one, Killian thought, watching a haze rise up from the spot where a shopkeeper stood spraying down the sidewalk.

He took a pull from the coffee in his hand and grimaced. _Bloody hell._ It was as though someone burnt the grounds with an iron and then brewed them with bath water. He glanced longingly in the direction of Granny's, but he'd be damned if he was going to make an appearance there after his experience on Wednesday. By all accounts Storybrooke was still playing host to that reporter. He refused to even _think_ her name. He'd already wasted a good portion of the last two days worrying over her presence in town, and enough was enough.

A hearty clap on his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts. "Killian! Hey."

"Sheriff Nolan! Looking ship shape this morning."

He laughed, "Says the man in the Armani suit. Can you stand a little farther away from me, man? You're making me look bad." He was shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his blue jeans and holding a styrofoam cup in his other hand.

An attractive blonde was passing them on the sidewalk and eyeing David's fitted grey shirt. Killian nudged him, "I would say you're doing just fine. And, it's bespoke."

"Bespoke?"

"The suit. It's- You know what? That's neither here nor there. Can you spare a moment to talk or are you on your way to breakfast?"

"I'm all set. I was over at Granny's with-" David cut himself off and said, without a pause, "Yeah. I have a few minutes."

The dropped thought hadn't been overlooked by Killian, but he wasn't going to push the matter. It was undeniably related to that school teacher he'd been pining for as long as he had known the man. For the life of him, he didn't understand why Nolan didn't just give in to his better judgment and ask her out. He needed to set aside his guilt around leaving the family business and stop letting his mother dictate his love life. Namely, he needed to break it off with Kathryn Clarke and shack up with Miss Blanchard already.

"You missed the last two game nights, mate," Killian said, as he began to walk. "Gold won the last one and, frankly, he's being an insufferable arse about it. It's not the same without you and your horrendously dreadful poker face."

David cocked his mouth up on one side and he wrinkled his brow. "First off, I don't know what you're talking about. My poker face is so good, you don't even know it's a poker face. And secondly, I've been busy looking into that thing you wanted me to look into." He raised his brows knowingly.

"Have you then?" Killian looked around to make sure they were alone on their stretch of the street. When he continued, he spoke more softly. "Please continue."

Killian had spent the better part of his first two years in office pursuing the projects he campaigned for. In the last few months, however, he had been taking a closer look at his budget. At first blush, all seemed in order. But Killian hadn't made a fortune in small caps by accepting numbers at face value. Something was definitely off, and David had been doing some digging for him in the police department ledgers.

"I asked Regina to stop by the station today, to explain a few items in last year's budget to me. She said that Sidney did all her accounting. Frankly, she wasn't much help."

"I got a similar line from her," Killian said, scratching behind his ear. "I think we need to take a different approach, Dave. I've got an old friend I'm bringing in on this."

"What do you need me to do?"

"For now, nothing. I'll keep you apprised."

David cut a glance to Killian, "I'm not sure that Regina can be trusted."

"Agreed. Something is decidedly dodgy there."

They walked for a few minutes in silence, sipping their coffees, when David spoke suddenly, as if he had just remembered something. "Oh! I wanted to talk to you about something else."

"What's that, mate?"

"Leroy stopped by the station yesterday to say that this reporter was asking him a lot of unusual questions. He's the third person to talk to me about her this week."

Just the mention of Emma Swan, and every thought in his head slipped away. "Hmm? Is that so? You're not the only one who's come to me about this matter."

"Do you want me to talk to her?"

"I already have." Killian said, reliving the moment when he first saw the reporter, blonde hair spilling over her bare shoulders, dotted with freckles. He wondered fleetingly if she had them on her nose as well. He hadn't noticed. He was too preoccupied with her lush mouth…and beguiling eyes.

"Find out anything?" David said, oblivious to Killian's distracted expression, as they crossed a street.

"Aye. That she is certainly not here to write a travel guide." He thought back to their conversation, remembering how she had given him the cold shoulder. "And that she doesn't bloody well want anything to do with me."

David laughed heartily. "She's an excellent judge of character."

"I knew I could count on you for your support, mate." Killian chuckled, putting his hand on the library door.

"Always, Killian." David looked left and right before crossing the street, shouting back at Killian, "So, I'll see you Saturday night? Rabbit Hole?"

"I'll be there," he said, and opened the library door.

* * *

He had just picked up a book from the _Business and Economics_ section, when he caught sight of her. Or rather, her hair. On the opposite site of the room sat Emma Swan, poring over something at the microfilm machine.

Killian's initial thought was to slip away silently, and preserve his dignity. But he had never been a man to back away from a challenge. He stepped quietly around a bookshelf and came out the other side, where her workstation was more visible. From where he stood, he could see past her head. There was an image of the _Storybrooke Daily Mirror_ on the screen - his own face was staring back at him. It was election coverage from over two years ago. What could she possibly need to know for a travel guide that she would learn from a story about his election?

He stepped out into the open and she must have caught the movement from the corner of her eyes, because she immediately flicked off the machine and looked in his direction.

"Oh! It's you." She quickly flipped over her tablet and spun in her chair to face him.

He tried to ignore the way her soft grey t-shirt hugged the curves of her body, but was unable to avoid staring at her mouth as she took her lower lip in her teeth. He wondered what it would be like if he were to take that lip in his mouth - how she would taste, what noises she would make - but he pushed the thoughts aside as extraordinarily ill-advised.

"How's the story coming, Miss Swan?" He started to approach her slowly. "It's been a day since I chanced upon you at Granny's. Any progress?"

"Chanced upon me? Is that what you call it?" She chortled. "Yes, I'm making quite a bit of progress."

"I'm happy to hear that. If you need anything from my office, you need only ask."

"Will do. I'm good for now. How's your - uh - mayor stuff going?" He took note of her mock friendly smile, and the fact she was subtly slipping her papers into her bag.

"The mayor stuff?" He chuckled. "Nothing but glamour and glory. I took a tour of the Waterworks yesterday. Followed it up with three hours of paperwork. It was thoroughly stimulating."

"I'll bet." He watched as she toyed with the chain around her neck agitatedly. Good. He was making her as edgy as she made him.

"I saw the elementary school today. Really nice place."

He rounded the side of the bookcase that separated him from her, and she eyed his progress warily. "You approve of it? I renovated it last year. We were able to procure supplies at quite a discount. In fact, we came in well under budget."

"Oh? What other projects have you done around here since you've come into office?" Her voice was more inviting, friendlier.

She leaned back in her chair, the hem of her white skirt rising up her thigh and he lost all focus. He had a vision of her wrapping those thighs around his waist and whatever he had accomplished in the last two years seemed irrelevant. "The projects since I've been in office? Road improvements, park playground upgrades, that sort of thing. I'm sure none of this is interesting to tourists."

"Oh, no. Our readers love to get the whole story."

"What exactly is _your_ story, Miss Swan?" He came to a stop in front of her chair, leaning back on a bookshelf, and looked right into her green eyes. She sat up straighter, searching his own eyes. Emma Swan was a puzzle he was going to figure out.

After a charged silence, she looked at the floor, and then back to him, speaking more softly. "No offense, but I don't like to talk about my life. I would just rather not."

"I understand, love. My past is nothing I like to discuss either. It's just that you…intrigue me, Swan."

"Right. Protecting your citizen's interests and all that."

"Perhaps _I_ just want to know more about _you_."

He ran his tongue over his upper teeth. He watched her eyes dart to his lips, and then away. She was breathing faster. He grinned at her, knowingly.

"There's nothing to hear. My life is rather boring," she said.

"On the contrary, I suspect you're anything but. Perhaps you've gone too long without truly letting yourself have some fun."

"I have plenty of fun, thanks."

"Indeed?" He stepped closer to her chair, so his feet were nearly touching hers.

She stood up, her face inches from his. She did have freckles on her nose, he thought to himself, before she said, in a suggestive tone, "If I want to have fun, Mr. Mayor, I am more than capable of _doing it_ by myself."

His mind was suddenly overwhelmed with images of her in her hotel room, naked, running her fingers over her slick flesh. Her eyes were closed and she was panting as she grew closer and closer, arching her back in pleasure as she cried out. He had a sudden desperate hope that his face didn't betray his thoughts, or the stirring he felt in his trousers.

When he looked at her, she was smiling at him as though she had his number.

Damn. What was this woman trying to do to him? Whatever it was, he concluded, it was not going to come to any good for him. He tamped down those thoughts, took a deep breath and backed away. "Aye, well, I'll leave you to your…research."

She said, in a voice far more calm than he felt, "Yeah. Thanks."

"Enjoy your reading, Emma."

He thought he heard her laugh, as he strode away but wasn't sure. All he knew was that he had to get out into the street and out of her sphere. Being close to her made all of his sensible thoughts disappear.

He resolved to avoid Emma Swan as much as possible before she left town.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

There was nothing like a good run to clear your mind, Emma thought, as she wiped away a trickle of sweat from her temple and glanced at the clock tower. 6:30.

An hour until she was supposed to call Lily. Plenty of time.

For the first time in a week, Emma was feeling pretty upbeat. There were now pages of notes in her tablet about the Jones election and administration. And she'd even started to adjust to the eccentricities of small-town life. It was a little suffocating at times - with everyone looking for their ten minutes of fame in her "travel story" - but people were generally nice, and she had even managed to avoid another run-in with the mayor.

Her morning runs along Storybrooke Harbor had given her ample time to quietly work through some of the stickier aspects of her story. Plus, there was something about the soft thumping of boats against their moorings and smell of salty air at sunrise that she found soothing, which was a necessity if she was going to spend this much time thinking about the mayor.

As she rounded the corner of the schoolhouse, she thought of her new friend. Emma had long since decided to stop using Mary Margaret to get intel for her story, and instead had spent her afternoons sharing coffee and listening to the cheerful schoolteacher wax poetic about her upbringing in this little town. It was a dangerous game Emma was playing with herself - pressing her nose to the glass of a life she had never lived. It was the stuff of fairy tales...of fantasies she wove for herself from the top bunk of her room in the group home, wrapped in a worn out baby blanket embroidered by a mother she'd never known. She knew she had to keep this fantasy at arm's length or she was going to get hurt. And the same went for any involving Killian Jones.

Her lungs felt a bit tight and she inhaled deeply, clearing those thoughts from her head, and focusing for a while on the crunch of the pebbles beneath her shoes.

Passing the main dock at the marina, she smiled at the elegant wooden ship docked there. It was the kind you see in the movies - two masts, blue and red stripes down the sides, and scrollwork on the stern - and it lent an almost mystical quality to the scenery. She wondered if it was here permanently or if the owners were just passing through; perhaps she could arrange to get a closer look at some point.

Her leg was starting to cramp up, so she sat down on a bench at the water's edge, rubbing her calf. She glanced back at the clock: 7:15.

She had been out a full thirty minutes longer than usual. She hoped Lily wouldn't mind her calling late this morning.

A flicker of movement at the far side of the marina caught her eye.

 _Oh hell._ It was the mayor. _Of all the fucking dumb luck._ He was jogging in her direction.

Emma quickly looked around for some escape route that didn't call attention to her presence and found nothing. She slid down to the ground under the pretense of stretching, thinking that perhaps the bench would shield her from view, and glanced up to see if he had noticed the movement. He hadn't. He was facing the other direction now, hands on his knees, breathing heavily.

After a moment, he stood up straighter, his hands dropping to his waist and tugging at the hem of his grey t-shirt. _Oh Lord._ He was starting to take it off.

She swallowed thickly, her arms frozen in mid-air above her thighs.

Prior to five seconds ago, Emma Swan would have said she wasn't the type to ogle. Particularly men who were as full of themselves as Killian Jones. She knew that the sensible thing to do would be to turn away and not look back. But she found herself mesmerized by the sight of his shirt lifting slowly, revealing his skin inch by inch in a tantalizing strip tease. Her heart was tripping along at a breakneck pace, and she distractedly swiped at the wetness that had formed in the corner of mouth.

She held her breath as he made the last tug, revealing shifting swells of muscle that ran from his toned shoulders down the length of his back, ending in small hollows a few inches above his waistband. A sheen of sweat covered his lightly tanned skin, and she found herself wondering what it would taste like if she dragged her tongue across it.

Biting her lip, she admired the tightness of his ass in his thin running shorts. She felt a flush creeping up her neck as - without warning - she was struck with a vision of his body on top of hers, her hands grasping roughly at his backside as he thrust into her repeatedly.

He ran his hand through the mess of sweaty hair on his head, and the sudden gesture brought her out of her fantasy. He absently scratched at his ear and turned to look out at the harbor. Emma watched as the hair on the top of his head flopped back down towards his face, and her fingertips twitched with the desire to help him set it right.

She shook her head in irritation. At herself. Or maybe at the fact that he actually existed. _Really?!_ It's not like she didn't have a hunch what he looked like under all those expensive suits. After all, she had been up close and personal with his firm chest and she had already imagined quite a bit. But her imagination was clearly no match for the real thing.

He wiped his face with the t-shirt and flung it over his shoulder, strolling off down one of the docks. Emma released a breath she hadn't known she had been holding.

Behind her she heard someone clear their throat and she jumped in surprise. "Miss Swan."

She looked up to find the brunette who had been talking with the mayor outside the diner sitting at the park bench, dressed in a fitted black suit and sunglasses. Something clicked in her mind and she realized she was face-to-face with his mayoral race opponent.

Emma pressed herself up and took a seat opposite the woman, taking another quick look down the docks and finding that Killian had disappeared. An envelope, thick with papers and bound with a string, was pushed across the seat toward her.

"Uh. Okay, Agent M. Is this my dossier?"

The woman didn't even crack a smile, speaking in a clipped, brusque voice, "I'm sorry, what? Look, I know why you're here - the corruption story. I have something for you."

"Hi. Let's start this again. My name is Emma Swan, and you are?" She held out her hand, a fake smile plastered to her face. She knew damn well who the woman was, but hadn't liked the way she had clearly tailed her to this spot and how she seemed to find introductions beneath her.

The brunette turned and looked across her shoulder to the parking lot, then back to Emma. "Regina Mills. I'm the one who called Neal. Take a look at these. If you need to reach me, slip an envelope under my door at the First National Bank of Storybrooke later today."

"You can cut the cloak and dagger crap, lady. This is a newspaper article about small town politics. I'm not busting an international drug cartel. No one is coming for you."

"I just don't want anyone to find out about what I'm exposing, before you have time to break the story about Mayor Jones."

Emma paused for a moment, thinking about him. It was funny. She usually had a really good sense of when people were being underhanded. She'd met her fair share of shady politicians. Initially, she had been hopeful she would find evidence of a cover-up - and bring the mayor's ego down a few notches - but now - she wasn't sure. Something felt off about the story this woman was trying to sell. Even more so now that she had read a great number of articles detailing some of the nastier things Miss Mills had said about her opponent during the election.

She peeked inside the file and found it was made up of mostly accounting ledgers, receipts, and the like. She would need some help deciphering them. Emma made a mental note to add these to the list of things she was having Lily look at for her; it would definitely take longer than a day.

"I'll look at these and get back to you. When I'm ready."

"I have eyes. I saw what was going on when I walked up. Are you sure you're the right person for this job? I wouldn't want you to get _distracted_ while you're here."

"I am fully capable of writing an unbiased story, whether the subject of said story is attractive or not, _Miss Mills_."

She stood up abruptly. "Okay. But don't take too long. I've got a friend at the Herald too. If you don't get this story out there, I'm sure he will be more than happy to do so."

"I don't take kindly to threats. I promise you will have your story. But I won't cut corners to get it."

She nodded. "I won't fault you your integrity. Look - I have to go. Nice meeting you Miss Swan."

"Mm-hmm."

Emma turned around and watched her get into a black sedan, passenger side. She couldn't make out who was driving.

Well. That was an interesting development.

Emma looked through the papers - real estate purchases, bank records, phone records. Lily would have to pick these over more carefully. In her past life, her friend may have done a little money laundering, but she had cleaned up her act and now worked for some big accounting firm in Boston. Emma could always rely on her for her knowledge _and_ her ability to keep quiet.

Meantime, she had some work to do. She needed to hit the library again and pull a little more on this election thread. It felt like she was closer to getting to the bottom of this corruption claim.

* * *

"I'm sending the files express mail to you today. You're supposed to get them by tomorrow morning, Lily." Emma hit send on a text. "Here's the tracking number."

"Got it. Did you send them to my office downtown?"

"Yes."

"I'll take a look at them right away and let you know what I find." Emma heard the sound of a paper bag crinkling and then Lily continued, munching on some food. "So how are things with Neal? Has he finally manned up and called you back?"

"Are you eating one of those Chips Ahoy creme donuts? Damn, I could really go for one of those right now. They don't have them up here."

"You're dodging the question Emma. And yes," she snorted, "I am. And it's marvelous."

Emma wanted to stand up for Neal - honestly she did - but she was starting to get a bit annoyed that he wouldn't just bite the bullet and hear her out. She didn't want to say that to Lily, though. Her friend had never liked Neal, and Emma had already had to put up with Lily gloating about being right about him more than once.

Emma said resignedly, "I don't think he wants to hear what I have to say."

She could hear a huff of breath on the other end of the phone, "How long have you been trying to talk to him about this?"

"About three weeks now. He was on assignment and then when he got back, I was on my way here."

"Ah well. You'll see him in a few days. He can't avoid you forever. It's not like you're in danger of cheating on him, anyway."

No, she wasn't going to say it. She was _not_ going to talk to Lily about the mayor, because she knew what she would tell Emma to do, and Emma was absolutely going to disagree. Lily's mind seemed to permanently reside in the gutter. She tried to sound convincing but her natural voice got lost on the way to her mouth. "Right. Absolutely."

"Whoa whoa whoa. What was that?"

"What? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit. Emma, I've known you since you were ten. Spill."

Emma's mind drifted to Killian leaning against the bookshelf of the library, all innuendo and flirtation, "There's nothing to tell. Trust me. He's trouble."

"Who is _he_?"

"Some guy I met at a bar." Best to go with the easy lie. She didn't want to admit it was the man who she was currently investigating - whose balance sheets Lily was about to tear apart.

"Is he hot?"

"What difference does it make?"

"Humor me. I'm in a dry spell. Is he hot?"

"Yes." God yes.

"And he's not married?"

"No."

Lily took another bite of something, and came back with, "Is he straight?"

"Ohhh yeah."

"You need to hit that Emma. When was the last time you had sex?"

"I don't know. Three - no - four months ago."

"That's sad. I bet it was missionary too. Neal strikes me as a plain vanilla sort of guy. You need a little spice. That guy from the bar? What do you suppose he is? I bet he's cinnamon."

"I can't- I can't even think about what spice he is or isn't, Lily. I'm still technically with Neal. And I need to focus on breaking this story."

"Well I'm going to look at these numbers of yours, then you're going to write the story of a lifetime and _then_ you can bang this guy's brains out." She was laughing now.

Emma groaned. "Did you miss the part where I said he was trouble? He _knows_ everyone wants him. He's got an ego a mile wide. And he's stupid rich. We have nothing in common. I don't need a guy like that."

"Sounds like the beginning of every erotic novel I've ever read, Swan."

"Oh! For the love of God, Lily. I'm hanging up now."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Emma was sitting across from Mary Margaret, picking at the remains of her brunch. It had already been an eventful Saturday, what with the Deep Throat act from Miss Mills, the unexpected exposure of mayoral assets at the docks, and Lily's sexual pep talk. Clearly the usually-reserved schoolteacher had gotten the memo. She was in rare form. It was actually quite refreshing, getting a chance to see this mischievous side of her - a side she suspected very few people had witnessed.

"So, when the hunters went back to their truck to get their breakfast, I snuck out and shot an arrow right through the rope holding the trap together." Mary Margaret giggled and took a sip of her tea.

"And you actually hit it?"

"Yep. That poor rabbit ran away at top speed. I just couldn't bear the thought of that sweet animal on someone's dinner plate."

Emma chuckled. "I would have never taken you for an expert marksman."

"I know right? I had this thing for Robin Hood when I was a kid. Ohhh. Kevin Costner was just dreamy. So, I begged my dad to let me take archery lessons. He was a big softie when it came to me, so of course he let me do it. I went all in."

"Well, I bet the hunters in the area were not pleased - traps getting destroyed, arrows all over the place."

"They were," she said, eyebrow raised. "My father laid into me about how he had to keep buying me new arrows and what was I-"

The door to Granny's opened and closed behind Emma, and Mary Margaret stopped talking for a moment, her mouth slightly open. Emma turned around to see what had stolen her friend's attention. There was a tall, sandy-haired man approaching the counter, sporting a fitted grey-blue shirt and jeans with a leather belt, to which was attached a badge. _The sheriff,_ Emma noted.

She looked back to Mary Margaret, the puzzle pieces falling into place. She thought she had picked up on _something_ the other day when there was talk of David Nolan, but now she _knew_.

Emma gave her friend a minute as she tried to catch his attention - half-waving at him and smiling cheerfully. It was hard to miss the warmth of the smile he gave her in response before he left with his coffee and paper take-out bag. It was obvious Mary Margaret wasn't alone in her affection.

"So...Sheriff Nolan?"

"I'm so sorry. I didn't think to introduce you. He, uh-" She was blushing wildly and Emma didn't want to push her.

However, Mary Margaret was in the mood to spill a little.

"He's - well - I've known him for ages, you know? Of course, he's with Kathryn right now, but once upon a time I had quite the thing for him."

 _She has quite the thing for him now_ , Emma thought.

Her friend leaned closer, glancing around to see if anyone was listening. "It was a bit more than that, actually. We were always flirting in high school. And then, there was this time we were on the Jolly Roger for a school trip and I-" she cut herself off - even more red, if that was possible - apparently trying to decide if she should continue.

"What? Oh, noooo. You can't leave me hanging like that." Emma waggled her eyebrows at Mary Margaret, nodding her head to coax her. "What is it? What did you do? And, what's the Jolly Roger?"

"It's that ship out there at Storybrooke Marina. The big one? They use it for day trips. It's mostly docked down on the Cape this time of year, but every once in a while they bring it up here and run a few tourist cruises. It's like a rite of passage, taking a trip on that boat. Liam used to captain it when I was in high school. He was so much fun. Sometimes he and Killian would dress up in costumes and do a theme cruise."

Of course the nature of the costumes was irrelevant, but Emma found herself needing to know regardless. She bit her lip as she asked, suspecting no good could come of it. "What kind of costumes?"

"Oh, you know, pirate stuff - leather waistcoat and pants, swords, and guyliner. The kind of stuff that made the girls go crazy for them." She grinned and took a bite of her muffin.

 _Pirates._ She sucked in a breath and held it, her mind wandering down paths of dark fantasy. Emma found it surprisingly easy to envision him in that get-up. He had that look of impiety about him, despite his formal trappings. And that accent was dangerous.

"I can see why. Were you a part of that fan club?"

"Liam and Killian were so great to us, but - no - I've never been much for pirates. Besides, all I could think about was David."

"What was this thing that happened with him?" Emma asked.

"Well, my friends and I had this bet going. Who would get to second base first with our crushes. I don't even remember why. It was probably Ruby's idea.

"So we were all on this field trip together senior year. Maybe it was something about being out on the open sea or the mystique of that ship that got to me. I really don't know. But, I had gone below decks to use the bathroom and wandered off to look at the rest of the ship. There I was, standing in the galley, and in walks David. He says he's lost." She crinkled her nose and rolled her eyes. "Totally a lie. I'm pretty sure he followed me down."

Emma grinned and told her to go on.

"There he was in that really small room with me, making small talk, and all of the sudden it was like a switch was flipped in us. You could cut the tension like a knife. He got this look on his face - real serious - and he asks if it would be alright if he kissed me. Of course I said yes. He turns and closes the door and there was this moment when everything seemed to stop and then...oh boy."

"He kissed you?"

She waggled her brows at Emma, speaking conspiratorially, "It was a lot more than kissing. At first, it was very innocent, but something came over me - teenage hormones, I guess. I backed him into the wall and really went for it. There was a lot of groping and heavy breathing. Who knows how far we might have gone, if it weren't for the fact we thought we heard someone in the hallway."

"Wow! What happened after that?"

"Nothing. I was so embarrassed that I kind of avoided him for a while. And then, when I saw him again, I think he was angry with me, or upset, so..." She gazed out the window in the direction he had left.

"Sorry to hear."

"Yeah. Well, we both went away to college and I guess we forgot about each other a bit. Afterwards, when his dad died, he was so overwrought he sort of disappeared for a while. Turns out he went to police academy. Then, he started dating Kathryn Clarke last year, which is what his father had wanted. It's probably for the best. We're good friends now."

"You think it's for the best?"

"Yes. I think so. I don't know." She sighed.

Emma just patted her hand. She had no clue what advice she could give to Mary Margaret. She barely knew what she was doing in her own love life. Why wouldn't Neal just respond to her? It was like this loose end that she could not tie up...and it was getting ridiculous.

"Well, you only live once, Mary Margaret. Just as long as neither of you regrets not trying again..."

She smiled, not answering.

Emma picked up her cup and downed the last bit of coffee, pulling out some money.

"I really do hate to leave you like this but would you mind if we continue this conversation tomorrow? Seeing the sheriff reminds me - I actually wanted to talk to him today."

"Sure, I look forward to our walk tomorrow," said Mary Margaret.

"Me too. See you later."

* * *

Emma wanted to catch David Nolan while he was still on his lunch hour, so she picked up her pace. It was hot and humid, and she was feeling a bit hazy, so she decided to run over the questions she had for the sheriff in her mind, making sure she had her facts straight. Passing the station's parking lot, she was happy to find the cruiser still in its space. That meant there was a good chance he was still here. She breezed into the station, riding high on the thought that she might crack this story by Tuesday and make the next deadline. As she flew around a bend in the hallway, she ran headlong into a wall. Or at least that's what it felt like.

She flung out her arms to steady herself, finding purchase on someone's waist. The other person grasped her by the forearms. And that was when she saw the grey pinstripe and anchor cufflinks.

Emma steeled herself and scanned upwards. It was _him_. In another winning combination of perfectly fitted suit, skillfully untidy hair and trimmed scruff. His face went from wide-eyed shock to amusement in a matter of seconds.

"Miss Swan. You know, if you had wanted to run into me you needn't be so literal about it. Although I am partial to this approach," he said.

All too suddenly, she realized her hands were still on his waist, a situation that was not easily rectified as he was securely attached to her arms and seemed loathe to return them to her. She tried to appear nonplussed, but her traitorous face was on fire - a serious battle between attraction and logic waging within. Lucky for her, he loosened his hold and she was grateful to be spared the necessity of taking his hands in hers and removing them.

His suit coat was incredibly wrinkled where her hands had been and, with a half-whispered apology, she tried to smooth the fabric. She felt his muscles tense beneath her palms, and his ribcage still, as though he was holding his breath. The worst part was that she couldn't help thinking about what was under his shirt, and wishing she had seen him from the front. If his front was half as hot as his back... _Oh God, she had to stop this already._ Her breathing had become erratic. His was as well. She looked up and found his eyes dark and penetrating.

Emma took a step away from him and inhaled deeply, trying to slow the rapid beating of her heart, "Sorry. I should have looked where I was walking. I didn't know you were going to be he- I mean, I wasn't here to see you. Obviously. I-" But he wasn't listening. He was looking at the ground beside her, distractedly. He must think she's nuts. She decided to just stop talking.

Killian bent over suddenly, reaching for something beside her. "You seem to have lost your satchel, love." She saw now he was retrieving the bag she didn't realize she had dropped in the scuffle.

He stood up with it in his hand, looking pleased with himself, and lifted the top of the strap over her left arm. Then he adjusted it so it sat squarely on her shoulder, running his fingers down the length of her arm and gently taking her hand and lifting it through the hole, so the bag came to rest on her hip. His fingers were warm and dry beneath the palm of her hand, and he searched her eyes for a moment, before letting it drop on top of the bag.

She tried to swallow down the mass in her throat, and failed. "Oh, thank you," she said softly. The trail his fingertips left on her arm still tingled with the after effects of his touch.

"Are you okay?"

 _No. I'm not okay. You're making me a nervous wreck._ "Yes. I'm fine."

"Aren't you a tad uncomfortable in those long pants and leather boots, love? It's hotter than-"

"I didn't realize how hot it was going to be when I packed," she said defensively. "It was in the seventies in Boston."

"You mistake my meaning. It was just that I was a bit concerned. You look a little flushed. However, I quite like them."

"Thanks. Uh. You have a very nice-" She searched for something non-sexual. No possible overtones. "-tie. It's a great tie. I love red."

He chuckled. "Aye? I didn't realize you were such a great lover of neckwear, Miss Swan. I typically don't wear ties, but they do have some alternative uses that appeal to me." He raised his eyebrow at her.

She could definitely think of a few ways she'd like to use that tie on him, but she wouldn't give him the benefit of knowing she was flustered at the thought. "Hmmm. Yes. Well, if that's your thing."

He reached up to scratch behind his ear, a nervous gesture. "I take it you are here to visit the head of local law enforcement, then?" He pointed over his shoulder.

Her disquiet at his abrupt presence began to disappear when the topic of work came up. "That's right."

"Because an article for tourists is nothing without a quote from the sheriff?"

He still, evidently, did not think she was writing about travel. Which she wasn't. She couldn't fault him for his intelligence, she supposed. In fact, she found it rather attractive. It was a shame that he was potentially using it for criminal reasons. Allegedly.

"Absolutely. It's always good to get information about crime in an area you may be suggesting to tourists."

"You've been here for seven days, Miss Swan. Do you honestly think there is a raging crime problem in Storybrooke?"

"Are you always this touchy?"

"Do you want me to be?" He smirked.

She groaned. "I bet the women love this... _thing_ ," she motioned up and down at his body, _"_ you do here, but I'm not falling for it."

"What women? Are you implying I am a scoundrel when it comes to ladies?"

"That is exactly what I'm implying."

"Perhaps I am. Perhaps, however, upon further acquaintance, you may revise your assessment." He half-smiled, lifting his brow and cocking his head.

 _If only you knew how much I already know about you, Killian Jones,_ she thought and smirked.

All of a sudden she had the strong feeling they were not alone. She looked over Killian's left shoulder and found they had an audience of two. One of the men was the sheriff, whom she recognized from earlier, and the other was a bit shorter with longish grey hair, a black suit and a cane. Maybe he was the town mortician or something.

David Nolan was smiling at her from behind a window, in a way that felt instantly familiar to her. She started to wonder if she'd ever met him sometime in her past. But, whether she had or hadn't, she absolutely did not want to give him the impression she had anything going on with his best friend.

"It was nice seeing you, Mayor Jones," she said, rather formally.

"Killian," he said, winking.

"Yep. Well, I have to go now. So." There was an awkward moment where she thought maybe she should hug him, or perhaps half-embrace him, or kiss his cheek. He was definitely considering his exit strategy as well. But the sheriff came around the wall to greet her and she gladly sidestepped Killian and walked towards him, hand outstretched.

"Emma Swan, a reporter with the Boston Globe, and you must be Sheriff Nolan."

He took her hand in his and shook it. "You can call me David."

There's a lot of that going around, she thought.

"So you two know each other?"

"Aye." "Not really."

The sheriff chuckled. "Mm-hmm. I see." She groaned internally.

"Do you have a moment to talk, Sheriff?"

"Sure, come on in. Killian - I thought you had a meeting to get to?" Sheriff Nolan said, amused.

"As a matter of fact I do. I have mayoral _stuff_ to get on with," he said, quoting Emma from their meeting at the library. She side-eyed him.

"Well. I'll see you later, then, Mayor Jones. "

Killian laughed heartily. "Goodbye, Sheriff Nolan. Miss Swan."

Emma followed David into his office, and the gentleman with the cane was still standing there in the doorway. She had to turn sideways to pass.

"Hello Miss Swan." The man's voice had an edge to it that was almost taunting.

"Do I know you?"

"No, but I make it my business to know everyone in this town," he said, rubbing a thumb across the top of his cane.

"What business is that? Coroner...or?" Emma asked.

He laughed dryly. "No. I dabble in this and that. Real estate, rare artifacts, estate items, valuable antiquities."

"Is that your ship out there? The Jolly Roger? I've been wanting to take a tour of it."

He paused, thinking, then started to speak with more edge to his voice. "No. Nobody is sure who owns it. It's held in trust."

Emma nodded. Her dishonesty alarm bells were clanging loudly in her head. This man gave her seriously shady vibes - he was holding back something from her. "Well, I have to speak to Sheriff Nolan now, Mister..."

"Gold. It was enlightening meeting you."

Enlightening? What the hell was he talking about? What could she possibly shed light on that had anything to do with this man that she barely knew? She would definitely be doing some digging on this guy.

"Same here. Talk to you later, Mr. Gold."

David turned back to Emma, muttering something as Gold thumped out with his cane. "Quite the character, huh?" he said, after the outer door closed.

"I'll say. Do you know him well?"

"I'm not sure anyone really knows him well. We play cards sometimes. I like to keep my eye on him. And I'm pretty sure he's doing the same with me." He sat down and motioned to the chair in front of his desk. "So you had some questions for me?"

"If you don't mind, yes. I would love to get some quotes from you for my article."

"I'd be happy to."

* * *

A half an hour later, Emma was feeling satisfied with the progress she had made on the story. She thought she probably had all that she needed for the time being.

David had been fairly cagey, but she could tell he hadn't vetted out the purpose of her article, so he had let slip some vital facts. The first was regarding Regina's friend Sydney. It turns out he did nearly all the bookkeeping for the town when she was in office, and he had become good friends with her after the disappearance of her fiancée, Robin. Emma had read about that, but in her experience, it wasn't uncommon for someone to abandon their loved ones. She figured he was living out a new life in California with a new girlfriend (or boyfriend, you never know) and a sports car.

The other lead could either be a wild goose chase or central to the story, and Emma was leaning towards the latter. It had to do with Mr. Gold - apparently the word on the street was that one or two of his ventures weren't entirely above-board. She could see why the rumors were swirling, given her earlier encounter.

The conversation was winding down, and moving away from anything that pertained to her story. However, Emma was finding that she really enjoyed talking with David, and was surprised to find that in no time at all, another half-hour had passed. She wondered if he was supposed to be somewhere, as he swiped at what looked like a couple of angry texts during the course of the conversation...not choosing to answer.

Although he wasn't her type, she could see what her friend was attracted to. Yeah, he had that rugged charm to him that was probably what Mary Margaret was into, but he had a wonderfully quick sense of humor. She also suspected that beneath the veneer of the easy-going boy-next-door, he had a rather finely-tuned sense of intuition - of getting to the heart of the matter. It was a trait she had herself, and was impressed to see it reflected in this small-town sheriff sitting across from her. Particularly since he was friends with Killian. If a man as clean-cut as this was friends with Killian, odds were good he didn't see anything problematic about the way he was running the town.

"You know what is important for a travel story? Hitting all the hot spots for a night out."

"I wasn't aware there was much of a nightlife to speak of, David."

"Oh no. We are totally hip. We've got a great nightlife...just you wait. Are you free this evening? Come down to the Rabbit Hole. A bunch of us are getting together."

She thought about her earlier conversation with Mary Margaret and wondered if her friend might want to come along. It would be nice for her to have time with David, plus Emma was going to need some moral support. She was pretty sure that a certain high-ranking town official would be there, and the thought already had her stomach in knots of excitement and anxiety. It was bad enough seeing the man in the halls of the police station, but add alcohol and casual attire and it was going to be a desperate situation for her. Hoping her thoughts couldn't show on her face, she replied, "I'd love to come."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Killian swirled the amber liquid in his glass and tried to focus on the conversation. Something about new equipment for the cruiser or maybe baseball; point of fact, he wasn't actually sure what Dave was prattling on about.

It wasn't Dave's fault. His mind was adrift. He'd like to have blamed the rum, but he had barely touched it.

The door of the Rabbit Hole opened and he glanced up to find _her_ framed in the glow of the sunset. She was facing away from him, whispering something to her companion, but the long spill of soft blonde curls could only belong to one woman. He vaguely registered the flattering white lace dress on Miss Blanchard, before taking in the revelation that was Emma Swan.

He would like to have had the courage to glance away nonchalantly - to retain some modicum of his usual unaffected swagger - but with her wearing a form-fitting cherry-red dress that barely covered long legs ending in high heels, it was a lost cause. He lifted his nearly-full glass of rum to his lips and downed it in one gulp.

Despite the cool interior of the bar, Killian suddenly felt quite warm. He undid another button on his shirt - which did absolutely nothing to help the situation. It did, however, seem to draw her attention. With satisfaction he watched as Emma's eyes flickered to his chest and then up to his face, before refocusing on her friend.

Mary Margaret smiled widely in his direction and waved to the man at his left. He watched as she put her hand to Emma's back and they approached the bar.

" _Damn._ " A voice at his side muttered.

"What was that, Dave?"

"Emma brought Mary Margaret. Does my hair look okay?"

What did he care?! For fuck's sake. He had his own issues. Namely, the blonde rapidly approaching him. _Come to mention it_... He ran his hand through his own hair, hoping to put it to rights.

"David." Mary Margaret sat on a stool next to him.

"Mary Margaret. You look nice."

"Thanks." She leaned back. "Killian. Hi. You know-"

"Aye."

"Emma! Glad you could make it," David said.

"Oh! Thanks for the invite," Emma said, looking around. "Where's everyone else?"

"Everyone el- What?" Killian started to say, but was cut off by a sharp jab to the side from David.

"Yes! I know! I was really bummed you couldn't meet the gang," David said, as Killian rubbed his bruised ribs.

He had no idea what Nolan was playing at. Nor was he aware he was a part of a "gang." He side-eyed his friend, thinking that he would have to talk to him later.

"That's a shame," Mary Margaret said interestedly. "Who was coming?"

Emma caught Killian's eye and he could tell she wasn't buying this story. "So Killian," she interjected, in what he could only guess was a play to save Dave from his falsehood, "Have you been here long?"

"No. In fact, we just arrived a few minutes ago. It's lovely to see you."

"You as well." She held his gaze for a moment, before she shook her head and said, "Both of you."

"Well, I hope you enjoy our local hot spot," David said, grinning. "It's an experience no self-respecting travel section journalist should miss."

Emma chuckled and they spent a few minutes talking about all the sights she had seen in the last week; however, when David queried them about their hike through the town forest, it quickly turned into a deep discussion about migration patterns of local songbirds. Which Killian had absolutely no interest in. Neither, apparently, did Emma. She shifted from foot to foot, looking past him, ostensibly to check out the liquor collection.

"Killian?" His heart skipped a beat. She had never used his given name before.

"What's that?"

She looked around. "Where's Kathryn?"

"Who? David's...uh...friend? Why do you ask?"

"I haven't met her, is all."

"She doesn't really come here," Killian said, wondering what her angle was. "I haven't seen much of her lately, to be honest."

"Oh." He watched the trace of a smile cross her lips, and she looked over at Mary Margaret and was quiet for a moment. Then she nudged his empty glass. "What were you drinking?"

"Rum."

"Sounds good. I think I'll have the same."

She flagged down the bartender, who stopped dead in his tracks and practically skidded over to meet Emma at the counter, smiling broadly and laying on the charm. Killian wasn't sure _that_ level of enthusiasm was altogether necessary in the transacting of an alcoholic beverage. He worked his jaw and narrowed his eyes at the youth. (And, he _was_ young. Shouldn't a fellow be at least old enough to legally partake of the beverages he sells?!) The bartender caught his scowl and slinked off to pour the drink.

"You look quite attractive this evening, Miss Swan."

Emma glanced down at her dress, thumbing the hem. "Oh, this. Well. I didn't bring anything bar-appropriate with me and Mary Margaret has this friend Ruby who wears the same size as me. Well, I'm not actually sure she's wearing the right size, to be honest, because...yeah. So. Thanks."

He made a mental note to give Ruby a hefty tip next time he was in Granny's.

"It suits you, I think," he said, motioning up and down with his hand. His gaze accidentally fell on the swell of her chest - and, not wanting to look like a prick - he quickly looked over her shoulder as if to smile at David, who, frustratingly, wasn't even facing his direction.

She chuckled and looked at him with a knowing grin on her face. Then she reached over and tugged on his shirt collar. "No tie."

"Aye. Alas, I was not given notice that you would be joining us, otherwise I would have outfitted myself properly. I know how you feel about them."

A smile broke across her face that reached all the way to her eyes. For the first time in days he thought there was a chance he was wrong about his going theory regarding Miss Swan - that she had come to Storybrooke to destroy him.

The bartender returned and handed a drink to Emma across the bar, glaring at Killian before briskly walking away without a backward glance at him. _It was going to be that way was it?_ Well. He didn't want another drink anyway. If he was going to spend a night in the presence of this woman, he would need to have his good senses about him.

"Why don't you take a seat, love?"

Emma said abruptly, "I'd rather not."

"I'm sorry, did I say something to offend?"

She leaned closer to speak into his ear. Wisps of her hair brushed against his face and he caught the scent of vanilla - _she smelled like a fucking cake_ \- which did nothing to diminish the desire coursing through his veins. Every drop of blood rushed directly from his head to his lower extremities; correction, extremity. "Here's the deal - it is not physically possible for me to sit on _that_ stool in _this_ dress."

"Ahhh." He prodded the man next to him. "Nolan. We're taking that table over there."

"Sounds great."

They crossed the bar and sat down at the only empty table available. It was littered with the previous occupants' filth, which Killian quickly disposed of and returned to find that David had placed himself in the chair next to Mary Margaret. He sat down in the one next to Emma - fervently hoping his thoughts, which were currently vacillating between the virtues of vanilla frosting and whether she would taste as good as she smelled - couldn't show on his face.

"So, Emma," David said. "Where are you from?"

"Me?" She paused, looking past David, in thought. "Oh, you know, all over."

Her response sparked a flutter of recognition in Killian he couldn't believe he hadn't picked up on before. It was a phrase he himself had uttered many times in the past.

"What did your parents do?" The words were out of David's mouth just as Killian lighted upon the idea that perhaps she was an orphan like he; the thought was confirmed by a flicker of discomfort in Emma's eyes.

"I was just wondering - where's Kathryn, Dave?" Killian queried, happy to see her shoulders relax and a look of gratitude on her face.

David was quick to pick up on the change of topic. He dodged the specific question, but it led to a talk about his family and the loss of his dad. Mary Margaret seemed uncomfortable at any mention of the man's name, but she hid it behind a guarded smile. Killian supposed that was because the Nolans were never big on the Blanchards. Long-running animosity. At least there was one upside to being a foreigner with no family connections - no one to get in the way of his love interests.

A shadow fell over the table and everyone looked up to find a stately brunette in a stylish purple dress. She was staring at the woman to his left, wearing a plastered-on smile.

Killian looked from Regina to Emma, trying to make sense of the awkwardness, "Regina, have you met Emma Swan? A reporter with the Globe," Killian said.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure." She held out her hand to Emma.

Rather than take her hand, Emma smiled and raised her glass. "Miss Mills."

Well, then. It was obvious they _did_ know each other. There was more to this story, but he was going to let it lie for now.

Ever the politician, Regina greeted everyone, making small talk before excusing herself "to join a friend." When Killian followed her path to a table in a dark corner of the room, his eyes met those of Sidney Glass for a brief moment, before the man looked away and stood up to embrace Regina.

"Who's that?" Emma asked, breaking into his musings. "I've seen him around."

"Sidney Glass," he said, "Regina's former comptroller."

"You-" she paused searching his eyes, "You seem to know him."

"Aye. I do. Well, I did."

"Oh." She swallowed the last of her rum. "But you don't hang out now?"

"Our interests have diverged, but there is no animosity." _That I know of_ , he thought to himself.

"Are they together?"

Killian turned to look at her, eyebrow lifted. She was fishing for a story. He was well aware of that, but he had nothing to hide.

"I don't believe so, no. Just great friends, I think. I must confess, however, I don't spend a lot of time thinking about the love life of a woman who spent the better part of a year spreading lies about me."

"Yeah. I suppose not."

She looked down at her drink, and then up at Mary Margaret and David. They were still heavy into talk of nature or the great outdoors or some such. Emma stood up, the chair scuffing on the wood floor as she stood.

"Just going to get another drink," she announced to the table. "And maybe some fries." Two-thirds of the table barely noticed her leaving.

The eyes of a dozen men followed her as she slid through the crowd towards the bar. But Killian was only concerned with one pair. Those of a man sitting at a table alone, in a far corner of the room, hidden in the shadows in his black suit and shoes.

The eyes of Mr. Gold.

* * *

"So there's Killian, in pajamas, with a pair of handcuffs on his wrist - one half locked around a broken headboard spindle - standing outside of my apartment building in the snow, begging me to release him and drive him home." David was three pints in and laughing heartily as he spoke. Mary Margaret had her head back, tears running down her face in mirth.

"Let me tell the story, mate. I won't have you spreading spurious facts about me to a newspaper reporter. The goodly sheriff is sorely mistaken. I never _ever..._ " he paused for effect, "wear pajamas." He winked at Emma, and the table erupted in hearty laughter.

She took his flirtation in stride, winking right back. It was as though she had known him forever. The thought filled him with happiness, but also a little melancholy. Liam would have liked her, he thought.

"No pajamas, hunh?"

"Do you need supporting evidence? A first-hand account could be arranged, love." He leaned back in his seat, running his tongue along his lower teeth and raising his brow.

She laughed softly at him. "So sure of yourself, Mr. Mayor. Did you ever think that maybe you couldn't handle a night with me?"

"Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it."

Emma leaned back, eyes narrowed, and smirking. Then, she crossed her legs so that the fabric of her dress crept up as high as possible without exposing herself. She ran her hand up her thigh, then up her body - skimming the outer edge of her breast - and into her hair, stretching suggestively, in a move he assumed was meant to rattle him. His pulse was raging but his exterior was entirely impassive. He was a wall. Immovable. He would be damned if she would get the satisfaction of him ogling the long line of soft ivory leading up to her- No. A wall.

In retaliation for her attempt to ensnare him, he reached out to snatch the last French fry from the basket with his left hand. He could see Emma's irritation at the move. He smirked and laughed mockingly as he wagged it at her in the air. Mary Margaret and David were quietly watching the proceedings as though it were a sports game.

"What? You wanted this?"

"Yes," she said, wearing an impish grin. "And you're going to give it to me."

She leaned close to him, lightly dragging her nails down his arm - from the spot where the cuffs of his sleeve had been rolled all the way to his wrist. His ability to produce a witty comeback was lost in the sensations left in the wake of her touch. He shifted his back muscles involuntarily as he fantasized about the feel of her nails on his skin in the throes of passion. However, his thoughts were snapped back to the moment as she wrapped her fingers around his left hand, thumb stroking the sensitive skin of his outer wrist. He sucked in a breath and opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out. Her face was moving towards his. Was she going to kiss him? Right here at the table? In front of everyone?

At the last moment, she angled her chin to speak into his ear, her breath on his earlobe shorting out his brain. "Sucker," she said, and then she twisted his hand over to retrieve the fry and leaned back in her chair, popping it into her mouth and licking her lips sensually. "Thanks."

He blinked dumbly, mouth open, forgetting the present company. When he looked up, Mary Margaret and David were sniggering, each casting a meaningful look at him. Damn it all to hell.

"Anyone want a drink?" Emma asked, still chuckling at him - the bloody woman, he may have been had this once, but he was not going to admit defeat readily.

"We're all set," Mary Margaret said, pointing at their nearly full glasses.

Killian had stopped drinking long ago. He glanced at the handful of empty tumblers in front of Emma's seat and did some mental math. It appeared she had consumed three glasses of rum in the last half hour. He wondered how she was still so steady on her feet, as she left the table for the bar again.

As soon as Emma was out of sight, he turned his attentions back to his other companions, who were probably a bit cozier than was probably appropriate, at least for Dave.

"Are you going to Kathryn's tonight?" Killian asked, hoping to nip any half-drunken ideas that they had in the bud. If he were to leave with Mary Margaret tonight, it may as well be in the papers tomorrow.

"We're not. We're actually...things aren't really going well right now," he said.

"Sorry, mate. I didn't know."

"Me neither," Mary Margaret said, hiding the shadow of a smile.

David looked at her for a moment, with naked heat in his expression, "Yeah. It's been a long time coming, actually."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, putting her hand on his forearm.

After a few minutes of discussion along those lines, Killian was starting to feel like a third wheel. He certainly didn't want to be alone at the table. He stood up quickly, "You know, I believe Emma needs me. I'll be right back."

As he made his way across the room, he found Emma coming straight at him, with a drink in hand.

"Sorry, I don't know what came over me before," she said.

"It's all in good fun, lass. Don't worry yourself over it." He leaned against the half-wall to his right.

"It's just that I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea. You and I - we - shouldn't..."

He stepped towards her, leading with a sway of his hip, and bringing them to within an inch of each other. She didn't back away - just stared into his eyes with a wrinkle of uncertainty - or, perhaps, apology? - etched in her brow. She glanced down at her cup, and took a sip of the golden liquid.

"'Shouldn't?' And why is that...Emma?" Her name rolled slowly across his tongue as though it were a treat he wanted to savor, and he watched as her eyelids fluttered at the sound of it.

She spoke breathlessly, "Well, I'm not going to be in town for long. It wouldn't be right, would it?"

"Do as you feel best, love. However, know that, should you desire to become better, ahhh, acquainted in the time you have left, my schedule is wide open."

Killian reached out for her hair, and took a lock in his hand, rubbing the silky length between his thumb and forefinger. He got a dark thrill from seeing the rapid rise and fall of her chest. From seeing desire equal to his reflected in her expression.

She shook her head lightly, as if she could shake out her unbidden thoughts with the motion. "Stop it," she said softly.

"Stop what?"

"What you're doing with my hair."

He let it fall from his hand and he grinned at her. "Why? Are you afraid you might give into your baser urges and kiss me?"

She took a step away from him and spoke, with a bit more cheek, "That's quite the assumption, mayor."

"So you're saying I'm wrong? You don't want to?"

"No. I mean. Yes. I-." She took a long pull from her tumbler and attempted - in vain - to express her feelings on the matter. But she couldn't find the words. Even though she had put a few more inches between them, her body tilted towards him as though he were a force she couldn't pull away from. The feeling was mutual.

Not for the first time that evening, an invisible vice tightened around his chest. He was starting to feel that the only way he'd ever breathe again was if it was into her. But, despite their obvious magnetism and his show of bravado, he didn't seriously believe she would kiss him. Not here. There would be a time and place, but snogging a near-stranger in the middle of a bar would be insanity. He was the mayor. There was propriety involved. And in all honesty, he wasn't going to take advantage of a woman who was clearly intoxicated.

He watched as she swayed on the spot.

"Easy there." He took her elbow in his hand. "Perhaps you've had enough for one evening." He took her glass and sat it on the wall.

"Are you trying to insinuate that I'm intoxicated?"

"I believe I'm saying it outright, Swan."

"That's nonsense. I have a very high tolerance." The last few words came out in a slight slur, and she giggled at herself. "Okay, okay. You might be right. I should probably call it a night."

"I would be happy to give you a lift back to your inn."

She looked at him, threw back the rest of her last glass of rum and breathed out heavily. Looking at him. Deciding.

After a couple minutes of contemplation, she spoke. "Okay. Sure. Let me say goodbye." She looked over at the table, cocking her head to the side at the sight of Mary Margaret and David, eyes locked, heavy in conversation. "Wow."

"David says he and Kathryn are through," Killian explained.

"Fancy that," she said through a smirk. "Let's just go. I'll text her in the car."

"Good idea," he said. "I'm ready when you are."

She muttered something under her breath that he was sure included the word "screwed" and a curse word or two, but he wasn't sure. Whatever it was, he wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment. _They were both fucking screwed._

"After you, milady."

They passed the empty corner where Gold had been earlier before exiting into the humid evening air.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 _"I'm not drunk. Just a little buzzed."_

 _"Four tumblers of rum in an hour, lass? If you aren't drunk I'd be heartily impressed."_

 _"Well, prepare to be impressed." She pivoted on her heel and began to stride away, but damn it if she didn't pick that moment to trip on some rope and nearly fall to the ground, grabbing the bumper of a parked car on the way down. "I'm fine. I'm fine."_

 _"Whoa. Here, let me help you." He reached out to help her stand again, but rather than putting her on solid footing, his firm grip around her waist made her feel even more unsteady._

 _It wasn't the liquor. This man had the uncanny ability of always being able to set her off balance. Ever since the moment she laid eyes on him._

"It's okay. I don't need your help anymore." She tried to sound like she meant it, even though his hands had felt so good on her body. That thought set her to walking again. Quickly. Towards the docks. Away from him. And his hands.

"I hear you saying you don't need help, Emma, but-" he said, as she felt herself slip on some pebbles, "Bloody fucking hell! -you certainly do."

Killian needed to lighten up a bit. What had gotten into him? He was usually far more laid back. Maybe if she put his mind at ease a little, he'd calm down. Stepping onto a dock, she bent over to take off her high heels...and lost her balance again in the process. She put her hand down on the wooden decking to keep from tipping over.

He gasped, half-reaching for her, his voice an octave higher than usual, "Stars above! My heart can't take this."

She stood up, shoes in hand, and waggled them at him. "Scary shoes are off. Better?"

"Great. But standing still would make me even happier. Better yet, what say you turn around and chart a course in the direction of that delightful inn you're staying at?"

The Jolly Roger stood a few yards away from her, softly bumping against the moorings. It was beckoning to her. Who was she to argue with it? She was going to have to get a closer look.

"Wait. Where are you going now?"

"Getting a better look at this ship."

"Up the stairs. Glorious. The brilliant ideas keep on coming, Swan. Hold on, will you?" He skirted the wooden steps quickly, and came up behind her, resting his hand on the small of her back as she ascended.

"Do you even know who owns this boat?" he asked lightly, helping her over the side.

"No, but it's beautiful, isn't it?"

"It is. I used to take tourists and school groups out on this ship. My brother was the-"

"Captain. Mary Margaret told me. I am so sorry, Killian."

"As am I." He joined her at the railing, staring off. She heard him take a deep breath and exhale slowly. "You would have liked him. He was a good man."

"I bet he would have been proud of you."

A flash of something between pain and gratitude passed across Killian's face and he grew silent. Emma was familiar with that sort of silence. The kind where you'd rather not talk about it. She'd leave him to his thoughts for a bit.

Leaning back against the portside railing, she looked across the deck of the Jolly Roger. The soft light of the evening cast a pale glow on the deck and Emma held her breath as she took in the magnificence of the meticulously painted railing, masts, and carvings. She couldn't remember ever being on a ship quite like this. Of course, that never stopped her from dreaming about it. Dreams were, after all, all that she had to keep her company for much of her childhood. Other little girls probably dreamt about a prince coming to take them away on a white horse. Not Emma. She dreamt about sailing off alone - leaving all of her problems behind. Her gaze fell on Killian. He was staring out over the harbor, a soft smile on his face - lost in his memories, perhaps. She hadn't seen him look so unguarded before. It was endearing.

 _Perhaps she could amend her dreams. The open sea was probably very lonely, after all._

Damn. That was an inconvenient thought. Emma quickly scanned the docks. She was entirely alone...with a man she was - quite possibly - falling for. There were so many reasons she should probably not be there at that moment. If only she could think of one. She couldn't. Her mind was entirely empty save one thought: _why not_?

She felt a brush against her wrist. Killian was holding out his hand to her, his eyebrow raised in invitation. She took it, letting him lead her to a bench against a wall. He pulled up a wooden box and sat down across from her, his elbows to his knees. A slight breeze rolled across the boat and they both closed their eyes for a moment, drinking in the cooler air.

Emma put her palms down beside her hips and leaned back against the wall, smiling at the man who had cocked his head to the side, looking at her. With his sleeves rolled up, his hair all mussed, and the glint of the moonlight in his mischievous eyes, he seemed a lot less mayoral...a whole lot more scoundrel.

"Emma?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing in Storybrooke, really?"

She blinked. She hadn't expected that question, but was quick to recover. "It's a long story. You don't want to hear."

"I've nowhere to be."

"It's something I am looking into for a…friend." Shit. _That's_ one of the reasons she shouldn't be alone with Killian - her not-quite-ex-boyfriend.

"And have you found the dirt you were looking for?"

Emma paused, considering her words. "Thankfully, no."

He cracked a half-smile and nodded. She had a sneaking suspicion that he knew far more than he was letting on. But he didn't push her any further. Instead, he said softly, "So you're fond of sailing?"

"I always wanted to be. Never really got a chance."

"You don't say? Well, perhaps an opportunity will present itself. I may be able to pull some strings and book you a seat on the next voyage."

"You still know the owner? I thought it was sold or something?"

"Something like that. How are you feeling, Emma?"

"Still a little hazy, I guess."

He stood up and started to walk towards the cabin door, turning to look back. "I think a little hydration is in order. Would you like some water?"

"Where do you propose we get it?"

"I'll be right back."

"Oooh. I think that's called breaking and entering, Mr. Mayor. How very miscreant of you."

Killian poked his head back out of the door. "A regular rapscallion, I am," he said, and winked at her, before closing the door.

She laughed as he headed below-decks and then it was silent, save for the lapping of waves against the hull.

A couple minutes later he emerged holding a couple of bottles in his hands. Emma stood up to take one from him, cracked it open and took a swig before thanking him.

He shrugged one shoulder and told her it was nothing, but instead of sitting back down on his box, he crossed the deck of the boat and opened a trunk at the far side. As he sauntered away, she took a moment to appreciate the self-assured sway of his hips and the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders as he bent over. He was just as attractive going as he was coming. When he came back, he was holding a folded wool blanket in his arms. He flicked it open, and spread it out on the wooden planks close to the starboard railing.

Then he made a courtly bow and gestured with his right hand to the blanket.

She walked across the deck and took a seat on the blanket, stretching her legs, but leaving room enough for him to join her. She looked up at him and nodded to her left.

"Oh no, I'm quite fine here, love."

Emma reclined back onto her elbows, and patted the empty space, "There's plenty of room for two, though."

He smiled, almost hesitantly, before sitting down next to her and leaning back. His presence at her side had an immediate effect. Certain parts of her body were starting to make plans she hadn't fully agreed to yet.

She crossed her legs.

It was a crystal clear night. The moon was only a sliver of light and there were more stars above than she was accustomed to seeing in the city. She was certain the sky was larger in Maine. But despite the beauty above, her thoughts kept returning to the man breathing deeply beside her.

She felt Killian shift, his voice was close at hand, "Quite a sight, isn't it?"

"It is. I was trying to remember my constellations, but I can only think of the Big Dipper."

"The stars are lovely, but do you see those two dots right there? That's Jupiter and Venus."

"Which ones?"

Killian took her hand in his, lifting it towards the moon. "That area there - off to the right of the moon. The brightest point of light is Venus. And farther over there is Jupiter. Do you see that?"

It was rather difficult to concentrate when her hand was still wrapped in his. "I do. They're breathtaking."

"As are you...Emma." The sincerity in his words made her heart skip a beat. What could she possibly say to that?

"You're not so bad yourself." _Good one._

"I know," he said with a chuckle, and released her hand. "Feeling a bit better?"

"Nearly sober, if that's what you mean. Thanks for the water."

"It was my pleasure, love."

"And thanks for tonight. I really enjoyed myself."

He rolled to his side and pushed up on one elbow. "The night's not over yet."

Emma turned to look up at him, and found a brow lifted over darkened eyes, his mouth curved into a half-cocked grin. It was a look that promised something more than a few drinks and a conversation.

She smiled in return, her breath coming rapidly, "You don't have to stay with me, you know. I can take care of myself now. I'll be fine."

"I know." He leaned down, speaking in low tones, a hair's breadth away from her ear. "You made it abundantly clear at the library that you can _take care_ of yourself. That's not something a man readily forgets."

A look of extreme smugness was written in the arch of his brow.

"You know what I mean." She knocked his foot with hers.

"Aye. And I'm all for, ah, self-reliance, but tell me - when was the last time you let _someone else_ give you the release you so plainly need?"

"You hardly know me. I have had plenty of sex."

"You're a beautiful woman. I would be surprised if you hadn't. However, anyone who's really looking can see how tightly wound you are. My guess? You haven't been well and truly sated in a very long time. One evening with me could change all that."

Emma lifted her own brow at this. "That's quite a big game you talk, Killian." She leaned up on her elbow, mirroring him, and decided to throw caution to the wind, damn the consequences. "I'd like to know if your actions live up to your words."

"You would, would you?" He laughed softly, inclining his head towards hers, his voice laced with sex, "Just say the word and I'll give you an orgasm so mind-blowing that from now on, when you touch yourself in the solitude of your room, all you will be able to think of is what I did to you right here on this boat."

Emma's breath caught in her throat. "I can't have sex with you, Killian."

"I'm not proposing sex."

"Oh." Shit. He means... "Ohhh."

"I'm not here to pressure you. But I would very much like to show you how exactly-"

Emma took him by the back of the head, bringing her mouth down on his. He made a small noise of surprise, but recovered admirably. Whether it was the tension of the last few days or the novelty of a new man, she didn't care; his lips felt so good on hers that she felt it all the way down to her toes. She curled her tongue around his, savoring the taste of rum, and learning the way they fit together, before breaking the kiss and leaning back to gauge his reaction.

"That was..." he said on an exhale, crinkling his eyebrow, in either concern or disbelief, as he rubbed a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. "Am I to take it that you wish for me to...?"

"Yes."

"Well, then."

Killian didn't miss a beat, wrapping an arm around her waist, while his other swept up her back and into her hair, drawing her up into a sitting position. Then he slipped his hand from her hair, along the side of her face, thumb following the line of her jaw and moving to her lower lip.

With her face cradled in his hand, he locked eyes with hers and smiled. Up close, she noticed a dimple in his left cheek that she hadn't seen before. It should have made him look more innocent, but it had entirely the opposite effect when coupled with his narrowed eyes and five o'clock shadow. He looked like danger embodied. The sort of man that other women's mothers warned them about. Lucky for her, she thought, nobody ever thought to warn her.

She ran her hand across his stubbled jaw and smiled back at him. Then he threaded both his hands into her long curls, and lowered his head to her neck. The low rumble of his accented voice vibrated against her skin, as he sucked and kissed his way from her neck up to her earlobe - _you smell fucking amazing...vanilla cake...need to taste you_. Frissons of excitement spread through her body, as his words grew more erotic and his kisses more insistent.

Then his mouth left her and he smoothed his hands down her sides, and back up again, bringing them around to the back of her dress to unzip. A breeze hit her collarbone as the dress loosened, and he ran a finger-tip back and forth slowly across the neckline, edging it down in a tantalizingly slow dance that raised gooseflesh all over her body.

"That feels….mmm."

"Oh! It seems we are missing something here. No bra for you this evening, Swan?"

"Have you seen this dress?"

"Darling, I think I have it memorized."

He teased the fabric until it fell below her breasts, and she was struck with the indecency of it all. She looked towards the docks. "Do you think anyone could be watching us?"

"No one can see us up here. Too dark."

She looked around, and decided he was right. They were too far into the shadows and too high up for anyone to grasp what was happening. Turning her attention back to Killian, she felt the sudden urge to skip the foreplay and just get down to it. Emma lifted her hand to the waist of his pants - which she could see was straining with the pressure of his hardened length - and started to tug his shirt out.

He sucked in air through his teeth. "Unh, unh, unh. No, love. Tonight is all about you."

"Can't I just touch your-"

She was cut off by the sudden feel of his mouth on her left nipple. A soft moan escaped from her as his tongue made lazy circles around the tight pink flesh. All she could see was the top of his sexy head of hair, so she wound the tips of her fingers into the mess of brown locks - and it was just as soft as she had imagined. He took her other breast in his right hand, his thumb skimming across her hardened nipple over and over until she nearly cried out, on the edge of pleasure and pain. She tugged on his hair involuntarily and a crystal blue eye blinked open and caught her gaze, but aside from grinning up at her, he didn't stop his slow study of every inch of her chest.

By the time he lifted his mouth off of her, she was squirming with desire. Emma was now desperate to get him inside of her. So when he used his forearms to shift up her body, dropping light kisses from her collarbone to her neck, she took the opportunity to slide her hands under his shirt and up his stomach, splaying them out across his chest - which was as hard as she'd imagined. She flicked his nipples with her thumbs, eliciting a groan from Killian, before running her hands down to his waist and starting to unbuckle his belt.

Killian laughed, "Did anyone ever tell you that you have trouble listening to directions?"

"Uh-oh. Are you going to get Sheriff Nolan to come and write me a ticket?"

"That depends. Will you keep your hands to yourself?"

"I can't say for sure."

"Aye?" He leaned back on his feet, and tipped his head sideways, an ornery look on his face. "Well, you know what happens to troublemakers in this town?" He ran his palms up her thighs - pushing her dress up to her waist as he went - and back down to her knees, drawing her legs apart with gentle pressure. "They are punished."

Emma smiled. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Mr. Mayor."

Killian snaked a hand up the inside of her thigh, caressing the front of her lacy thong and down along the edge, the tip of his finger slipping along her slick folds and dipping lightly into her on its way down. She writhed in ecstasy as he ran his finger back up again and drew figure eights over the fabric covering her most delicate flesh. In a single movement, he had her underwear off and on the deck somewhere behind the spot where he sat kneeling between her legs.

He took a quick moment to catch her eyes, before his hand was back again, the rough tip of his index finger circling her clit before sliding down between her legs and inside her. He moved it in and out, in and out, curving it just enough so that she knew it was inevitable - he was going to reach the spot that made her go wild any moment now. But he didn't. Frustratingly. A second finger joined the first, curving as well, moving separately from the first in an unbelievably erotic way. It occurred to her that even though she had been at it for a good fifteen years, he may be more skilled at this than she was. And that's when he hit that glorious spot that made starbursts appear before her eyes.

"There it is," he said, in response to her protracted moan. "You like that?"

Emma couldn't answer. He had added his thumb. He rolled it across her clit, while his fingers moved to a rhythm that made her shudder with the overwhelming sensations deep inside. Just when she was about to fall over into the abyss...he pulled out.

"What? Wait. No."

"You want more, do you?"

"God, yes."

"Hmmm," he said, regarding her through slitted eyes. He levered up, grasped her head in his hands, and kissed her with reckless abandon. His leg was between hers, the rough material of his jeans rubbing against her now-aroused flesh and his straining erection pressing on her thigh as they nipped, sucked, and devoured one another.

When they both broke apart, breathless and panting, he said on an exhale. "Now, as you recall, I have a promise to keep, love."

With a wicked grin, he slid his both of his hands beneath her, the tips of his fingers curved upwards, brushing the throbbing flesh between her legs. He dipped his head to drop a kiss on her navel. Her pelvis. Her hip bone. Her-

"Ahhhh. Oh God, Killian. Ah! Holy shit."

But he didn't respond. His mouth was on her now, sucking on her clit as the tip of his tongue flicked the delicate flesh. Her thighs pressed against his head, but he was unflagging in his ministrations. For an eternity he worshipped her with his mouth, while his upturned fingers stroked her folds as he held tight to her ass.

Her whole body felt as if it were made of glass and one more touch would shatter her into a million pieces. And just as she was about to break, he lifted his head to look at her. His hair was a wreck. His expression was self-satisfied. Bastard. She would make him pay for this.

"I like the way you make those little whimpers when you're just about to let yourself go."

"I do not make those noises," Emma panted, desperate for him to finish what he started.

"Aye, you do. And I intend to hear them once more this evening."

Killian's hands left her rear, and lifted her legs up and over his shoulders. His right arm snaked around the fabric bunched at her hip, and down to her clit, which he began to massage with his thumb. His other arm stretched out and took a hold of her hand. Then he put his mouth on her again, licking his way down to her entrance, each stroke of his tongue reaching closer and closer to that exquisite bundle of sensitive flesh deep inside of her. The spot his fingers had so skillfully found not long ago.

His tongue was gifted, his thumb relentless. Fragmented, incoherent thoughts began to float across her mind - a snipped of a song playing at the Rabbit Hole, the feel of the wool beneath her, the way Killian smelled like leather and clean sheets...and rum. Her toes were curled, heels pressed into his sides, and she was holding onto his hand so hard she thought she might hurt him. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead.

She made a mental note to text Lily: _He's cinnamon_. _Definitely._

Killian was dragging her closer and closer to the edge. A quiet stream of curse words interspersed with moans came from her as her hips raised up off the ground, Killian's tongue following her motions and working her more rapidly until she couldn't hold back any longer.

Her release came with a shout of ecstasy that was probably audible at Granny's. Killian continued to suck and stroke her, bringing on wave after wave of orgasm.

After minutes passed, or even hours, she breathed again. Her limbs felt more relaxed than they ever had and her core was still shuddering with aftershocks. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she felt this good. Certainly not at Neal's hands. He barely gave a thought to her needs. Minimal foreplay and calculated efficiency. She felt a pang of guilt at the thought of Neal. She would have to deal with that later. But for now…

Her eyes cracked open, and Killian laughed heartily. "Looks like you've rejoined the world of the living."

"Shhhh."

"You want _me_ to be quiet now, love? I think there were some people in Portland who were awakened by your dulcet tones."

"I wasn't that loud. You don't want your friend, the sheriff, to come and arrest us for trespassing."

"It's not trespassing."

"What do you call this?"

"Enjoying the company of a beautiful, intelligent woman on the deck of my ship."

In her post-orgasmic haze, she could've sworn he said, "Your...?" Emma's stomach dropped. This was a massive ship. The sort of ship that tourists paid money to take day trips on. And the mayor owns it.

Sexy, powerful _and_ rich.

Terrific.


	7. Chapter 7

Emma's pulse was hammering in her throat. In a heartbeat, she was grabbing her things, getting up and tripping towards the edge of the boat.

Standing over the spot where she had experienced the best orgasm of her life only moments before, was Killian, his brown hair still sticking up in the spots where her hands had been threaded into it. He'd hooked his right thumb into his waistband and was watching her with an expression of humor mingled with confusion.

Rocking up onto his toes, he said, "That was a quite unexpected response, Swan."

"Sorry. I just remembered I have something." She looked down, trying to think of the right thing to say, but it was hard to know what that was, because she wasn't even sure why she felt compelled to leave. "I'll talk to you soon, Killian."

"I'd wager you will." He lifted his hand to his chin, stroking his knuckles across his stubble. He was making no move to follow her. "I'd offer to walk you back to your place, but something tells me you won't accept."

"You'd be right." She stepped off the boat onto the stairs, straightening her dress as she went, to the sound of his voice behind her warning her _that first step is a bloody hazard_. She probably said thank you. Or not. She wasn't sure.

Her mind had strayed to the delicious throb between her legs and the merits of facial hair.

As she set foot on the dock she looked up to find him leaning over the railing, shaking his head and grinning. "Never a dull moment with you."

Emma chortled - a bit louder than necessary - but couldn't muster a comeback.

She was halfway up the docks, when she heard the sound of his soft laughter floating to her on the breeze.

* * *

"So, reading between the lines, you met a guy last night? And?"

"Really? Do we have to do this?"

There wasn't an answer, but she was certain Lily was rolling her eyes on the other end of the line.

"Fine," Emma said, defeated. "It was _him._ And - since I know you're going to ask - you were right."

"Right about wha- Ohhhh. Cinnamon. Hot damn! You got some."

She thought about that. In the strictest sense… she supposed she had. Emma hummed to herself as she mulled it over, tipping her head sideways to catch a glimpse of the Jolly Roger through the inn window as she did so. The late morning summer sunlight shone on the deck and it was vacant, from what she could see.

"What's that noise you're making?"

"I was just thinking. I didn't 'get some' precisely."

"What do you mean by that? Either you did or you didn't." She snorted, then continued, "Emma, dear, has nobody ever given you _the talk?_ All that time with Neal. I just assumed you-"

"Oh, cut it out." She blew out a breath, exasperated at her friend's persistence. "Let's just say, he did all the work."

Lily let out a soft low whistle as comprehension dawned. "I _like_ this guy."

Emma didn't know what to say to that. "Yep. So..."

"So. Why are you on the phone with me and not moving on to the second act?"

"I had to go."

An exhale of exasperation. "Will you answer me if I ask why?"

"I don't even know," Emma lied but, hearing a sigh on the other end, relented. "He's rich."

"You do realize how insane that sounds, Emma?"

"Now that I say it out loud, yes. But, look, I'd convinced myself he's not wrapped up in this corruption story. When he was a poor, humble servant of the people, it was easier to believe."

"He can be rich and _not_ be corrupt, you know?"

"Yes I do. It just bothers me that in all my research I didn't pick up on that important fact. Speaking of which-" There was a clenching sensation in her chest. She needed to end this line of questioning. She didn't like the way she felt when she talked about Killian. Exposed. Flustered. _Excited._

There was the sound of papers being moved about, and then Lily came back on the line, apparently taking the hint that Emma needed to shift topics. "Okay, so. Somebody is definitely hiding something up there. There are a lot of carefully ambiguous allocations here. A lot of intangibles that seem off but not too off. Everything _seems_ on the up and up. But it's too clean. It's too polished."

"You think it's Regina?"

"Well, that's hard to tell from the paperwork. It could be. Or, well, who does her books? Does she do them on her own?"

"I think a guy named Sidney Glass did the accounting for the town at that time."

"Worth looking into him, Emma."

"And the name I texted you last night - Mr. Gold?" Emma picked up a brush and tugged out the damp knots in her hair, putting the phone down on her bed while she did so.

"Oh man, he is as shady as they come. Files as self-employed. Income is much higher than your run-of-the-mill pawn broker. Is listed as beneficiary on numerous people's estates and other assets – none of whom are blood relatives. Why is that? What does he have on these people?"

An image of the brownish-grey-haired gentleman in the mortician's attire popped into her mind. Had it been in her imagination or was he staring at her last night?

She grabbed the phone and sat down, the old bed squeaking beneath her. "That is shady. Send me what you got and keep on it. I need more. He-" A beep sounded in her ear. _Damn._ "Lily, it's Neal. I have to take care of this."

"Have a fun breakup."

She groaned. "Good-bye Lily."

Pressing the flash button, she girded herself.

"Neal."

"Well, if you wanted to get my attention, you got it."

"What are you talking about?"

He was laughing sardonically.

"I don't get the joke."

"You didn't send it on purpose? Priceless."

A text message beeped on her phone. Attached was picture of – she had to turn it sideways – Oh! A mess of brown hair framed by a pair of pale thighs. Bunched red fabric in the upper right corner.

"Neal. I-" She breathed out, despondently. "I didn't want you to find out like this."

"Who is he?"

"Who he is doesn't matter. I've been trying to get ahold of you forever. You haven't made this easy."

"I've been busy with work. What about you? Have you found time - when you aren't spreading your legs for the male population of Storybrooke - to actually do the job you were sent there to do?"

Her stomach lurched. "That was uncalled for, Neal."

"I gotta go. It's Sunday. Deadline is this Thursday. If you don't have that story in, our source says she's going to someone else."

"Neal, wait-"

The line went dead.

She was fuming. Emma threw the mobile phone back down on her bed and paced her room. Why did every fight with Neal end like this? Him having the last word and Emma left in the wreckage? Her thoughts strayed to how it had all begun – with him in the passenger seat of her burgeoning investigative reporting career. Quite literally. Neal had offered to ride-along to the scene of a double-homicide and give her pointers on how best to get people to talk on record. At a diner afterwards, he had opened up to her about his difficult childhood.

Something about his candor, on a night that had been so full of raw emotion, just struck a chord. Of course, it was a long time before the friendship they formed over onion rings and grilled cheese turned into something else – a long time before she opened up to him and let him in.

It turned out that his poor relationship with his parents had given him the ability to understand her in a way that others hadn't before. It was good for a while. And then it wasn't. Sometimes friends aren't meant to be lovers, it turns out. The fact that Neal shared a similar past was overshadowed by his gift of using her weaknesses against her in the heat of an argument.

The worst part about it was that – despite her desire to ignore this recent bit of vitriol – Neal had touched a nerve. Like he always did. But this one stung. She had let her feelings for Killian cloud her judgement on the whole story.

Last night had been incredible. He was almost too good to be true. But she knew that if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was. In fact, right at this very moment, her head was telling her that the last few glasses of rum were probably too good to be true.

She downed a glass of water and three Advil.

With her sights set on getting more information about one man, she shrugged on her white t-shirt and grabbed her bag with tablet. She was going to break this story. Even if it meant learning something awful about her tall, dark and handsome mayor along the way.

Taking a bracing breath, she set foot outside.

* * *

It was noon on Sunday and Killian waved to the tight knots of families and friends who passed him in the street – on their way to lunch after church or to the small stretch of beach that boasted actual sand, so they could beat the heat.

His concession to the heat today – as it was his day off (although he never truly had a day off) – was a white linen button down and relaxed dark green khakis. It was an outfit his brother had bought him long ago and he had only worn it a handful of times at the most. He liked to tell himself that Maine summers were never hot enough, but that would have been a lie. There had been plenty of opportunity.

He just couldn't bear the memory.

Liam had taken the Jolly down to Boston for the Tall Ships Festival, at the behest of the owner. Sidney had decided to join them for the voyage. When they got into port, another crew came aboard and they had some time to kill. After a rousing afternoon at a pub on Newbury Street which Sidney was insistent about paying for, Liam had coerced his little brother into buying "an outfit for the islands" in Tommy Bahama. He had dreams of buying their own boat and setting sail for the Caribbean one day.

The next week, he was gone.

Killian swept his hand across his eyes and pulled out of his thoughts. He needed to set his mind to something more uplifting. He didn't need anyone starting any rumors about the state of his mental health. The Storybrooke Social Circle would have him to his ears in sympathy casseroles within a day.

Mary Margaret was in the deli when Killian arrived. She passed him on his way in, and they stopped for a moment in the vestibule to chat.

"Hey, Killian. Have a good night?" She winked at him and he was left wondering if Emma had talked with her about their dockside encounter or if she was trying to hint at something that had transpired with her and Nolan.

"Aye. How about yours? Oh! Pardon me Mr. French." Killian stepped to the side to let him through.

"We had a nice time last night. It was so much fun. I'd love to do it again sometime."

"Certainly! I must get going. I'm joining David for lunch at the station."

"Tell him I said hi. Bye, Killian."

"Bye."

Minutes later, he was holding a couple of turkey wraps, two bags of chips and two waters. And his mind was firmly on Emma Swan. This woman was going to end him – one way or another. Either his career, or his life as a single man. He spent a moment trying to decide whether or not the two could coincide. Probably not.

He chuckled to himself at that last thought.

"Well you're in good spirits, Killian," David said from behind him, as he neared the station.

"Aye."

"Care to enlighten your good friend?"

"Not particularly, no," he said, handing David his wrap and water.

"Emma."

Killian stopped and stared at David. He did not want to have this conversation right now. Or ever. But definitely not now.

"It's Emma. Look, man, I know you. And I have to be honest - I haven't seen you like this since…well, ever." David took a bite of his wrap and pushed into the station. A wall of cool air hit them as they entered and both sighed appreciatively.

"Nolan. For the love of all that's holy, do not make an ordeal out of this. I can see that look in your eye and I can tell you are already planning my nuptials. It's very early and it's…complicated."

"Do you have plans with her today?"

"No. Not as of yet. And I don't know where she is at the moment, so I couldn't reach her to make plans should I care to do so."

"You want her number? She texted me yesterday. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"She'll give it to me when she's ready," he said, fiddling with his ear.

He wanted to switch topics. Thinking of her made him antsy. He didn't like feeling so out of control. "How did you end things with Mary Margaret?"

"Oh. Well, she got called away not long after you left. Her parents. I swear somebody was watching us."

"I would call that paranoia in any other town, but you very well could be right."

"And in a strange turn of events, Sidney asked me to join him and Regina."

"Did you?"

"No. He hasn't been himself for a while now. His involvement in Regina's smear campaign against you didn't endear me to him, that's for sure. I guess you could say we had a parting of the ways."

"For me as well. We used to get on quite well. Poker nights, fishing trips, pub nights."

"I don't know if the Rabbit Hole qualifies as a pub, Killian."

"Semantics, Dave," he said, taking a pull from his water bottle. "Point being, ever since Liam died, that all changed. I thought he would be there for me. But he wasn't. And I'll never understand it. I thought it was grief at first, but it just dragged on."

"Now he's giving you the cold shoulder."

"Aye."

"This may have something to do with it, Killian." He opened a green folder and handed a sheet to Killian.

"What's this?"

"It's a thread. It's something."

Finally. He was going to get answers to whatever the bloody hell was going on. Killian knew that pulling on this thread was likely going to rip at the seam of his own administration. But losing his position was a small price to pay if he could do right by the town.

"Nolan."

"What?"

"Thank you, mate."

"You haven't seen it yet. You don't know how-"

"Not for this. For everything," he said, clapping David on the shoulder.

The sheriff took the opportunity to pull Killian in for a hug. "Anytime, _mate._ "

Killian leaned back to stare Dave in the eyes. "You do realize that you just made this entirely awkward for me?"

"Right, yeah," he mumbled, backing into the desk and trying to casually pull off a cross-armed lean.

"I'll give these a look."

"No problem. I'll be…here."


End file.
